


Heaven in a Rage

by Allieisonfire13



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Innocent James "Bucky" Barnes, James "Bucky" Barnes - Freeform, James Buchanan Barnes - Freeform, Kidnapping, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Rescue, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, graphic smut, rediscovering ones humanity, rediscovering sexuality, touch starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23491000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allieisonfire13/pseuds/Allieisonfire13
Summary: The daughter of a high ranking member of Hydra is kidnapped. The Winter Soldier is sent to get her back, but the more time away from his handlers, the more the Asset begins to remember.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A short preview of my new story. I hope you like it!! Comments and kudos give me life. Also, you, reading this, I love you. So much. <3

When she opened her eyes, the car was mostly dark, the sole light coming from the light emitting from the radio with the occasional splash of yellow from the passing street lights. The driver didn’t spare her a glance as she stirred, the harsh glare from the radio casting blue shadows across the sharp planes of his face.

It was the man from the room, the one who broke in. Did he save her? She couldn’t remember anything past the gunfire and the haunting stare of the man seated beside her. Her throat was raw from screaming; she was aching all over, the events of her capture taking their toll.

Abigail shook her head slowly, blinking the fog away that clung to the edge of her vision. She then tried to speak. What came out was more of a croak than any intelligible sound. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Who are you?” 

She had no idea how loaded that question was.

His eyes snapped to her face, cerulean eyes burning bright in the dimness. Her heartbeat sounded in her ears- a deafening warning- instilling in her a healthy fear of the stranger beside her. The man may have saved her but she was under no illusions regarding her safety, she saw first hand the carnage this man was capable of. 

His frigid gaze locked back on the road, posture stiff, on edge. His presence screamed danger.

Moments pass, stretching long across the distance between them. Once she was certain that he wasn’t going to answer, she mustered up the courage to ask her next burning question. “What day is it?”

His voice was gravel, a rasp that comes from extended disuse; it startled her. His robotic response came as a shock. “August 15th.”

It took a few moments to sink in. Then, a wave of nausea struck like a freight train. Weeks. It’s been weeks. Just shy of a month, kept in darkness, unaware of the passage of time. Disoriented, she asked, “did my father send you?” With each word, her voice started to come back, the tight burning giving way to a light scratching as she spoke.

His answer was simply a curt nod, effective, yet comforting enough to lessen the terror. He had been sent to save her. She was going home. Relief wasn’t strong enough to describe how she felt at that moment. The weight of the last few weeks fell away as fatigue set in. She slumped back and closed her eyes, relatively confident that the man beside her wouldn’t kill her. 

As she slept, soundly, for the first time in forever, the soldier stood guard.


	2. Part Two

The woman with the bright jade eyes had asked who he was. He had fully intended to answer her; the phrase “the Asset” sat heavy on his tongue, the only name he had ever known, and yet, it didn’t feel quite right. So instead, he said nothing.

Now she was asleep again, her breathing even, relaxed against the uncomfortable foam of her head rest. The sight brought a warmth to his chest that he did not recognize. He pushed the feeling away, as he often did when something made him uncomfortable; or when the flashbacks start, snapshots from a lifetime ago. Memories belonging to someone else. 

After what felt like forever, the Asset pulled the car into a small dingy parking lot for a fleabag motel; the kind that doesn’t ask too many questions and accepts cash only, by the hour. Pulling the keys from the ignition, he turned towards the sleeping girl. Her face was contorted in what looked to be abject terror, struggling against an imagined threat, more than likely some memories of her own. The Asset found himself reaching out to her, an unfamiliar urge taking over as his fingers softly moved a stray hair laying across her cheek, ghosting across her skin. She was warm, he noted distantly. 

The Asset shook his head to clear his thoughts, and grabbed the woman’s shoulder to rouse her with more force than intended. She woke with a start, gasping for breath. This, in turn, set the soldier on edge. He pulled back from her as if he had been burned, confusion and fear flitting across his features before he regained his composure and sat still, but alert. Always alert. 

With no further instructions, he exited the car and walked with purpose into the office. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket down in an attempt to hide the metallic shine of his left arm from probing eyes. The shrill bell sounded his arrival and the clerk looked up from their dimestore romance novel with a glare.

“I need a room.” He stated monotonously. His voice was as cold as the frigid winter air outside. The man was apprehensive, eyeing the Asset warily, spooked by the menacing stranger taking up space in his lobby. The Asset slammed his money onto the counter with a loud thud. The shopkeep jumped, muttering obscenities under his breath as he grabbed a key from the board behind him before saying, “Only single rooms left.” 

The Asset’s eyes narrowed, yanking the key from the man’s hand and storming back outside. Relief flooded the man as he watched the stranger leave, knowing something wasn’t quite right. 

\-------

Abigail waited in the car with baited breath, curled in on herself to conserve her body heat against the frigid air just outside the glass. She jumped when a shadow fell across the windshield, her unlikely savior pulling the door open suddenly. The chill bit at her cheeks. 

“Out.” He barked, frustration spilling off of him in waves. He turned and stalked to the trunk, not checking to see if she had obeyed. He opened the back, grabbing a black duffle back and...was that her suitcase?

“Why do you have my bag?” She sounded more assusatory than she had intended but he showed no reaction. Instead, he turned, starting a brisk pace towards what she assumed was their room for the night. Holding both bags in one arm, he had the door open before she was even halfway across the parking lot. She rolled her eyes as she followed him into the room. That’s when she noticed the one queen size bed in the middle of the motel room. 

With a sigh, she slumped onto the bed, curling her legs underneath herself and her arms around her torso, effectively closing herself off. Her travelling companion took no notice of her discomfort only fueling her frustration and confusion. She was feeling too indignant to put up with the silence. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

She was met with more silence. Her anger, fear, vulnerability, all reaching a boiling point. “You could at least acknowledge me.” 

So he did. His piercing glare locked with her own, blank as ever; but there was something deeper, a hint of annoyance slipping past his carefully constructed mask. One dark sculpted eyebrow was raised in a silent question. 

Abigail rose to the challenge, staring defiantly at the cold, beautiful, and terrifying figure before her. “If we have to suffer together, we may as well learn to deal with each other.” He stared her down before breaking eye contact with an exasperated sigh, running his hand over his face. She saw this as a victory and pushed further. “What’s your name?”

She was met with more deafening silence. She rolled her eyes again before continuing, hand on her hip as she stood at her full height, projecting as much defiance as she could with her thin frame. “I’m not going to give up, you know. “ 

This, at least, got a reaction out of him, in the form of a scoff; so quiet that she almost missed it. Then he spoke, with something akin to vague amusement. “Yeah, I hadn’t noticed.” His eyes grew wide, as if he too was surprised at the glimpse of humor that broke through his cold demeanor. 

The sound of the man’s voice effected her more than she would readily admit. She shook herself from that thought and replied, “my God, was that sarcasm? Does that mean…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Is there...is there actually a _person_ in there?”

The Asset was not amused. This only served to make the situation more humorous to Abigail and she did not try to hide her fit of laughter. This confused him, and he grew more tense; muscles pulling taut like a bowstring. After a minute or so, she eventually quieted down, deciding to stop pushing her luck. 

Danger was rolling off the man in waves. The quiet stretched between them, tension growing with each passing second. To her surprise, he was the one to break first this time; his voice was quiet, as if unsure. “The Asset.” His face screwed up with distaste as if the word itself was rotten. “It’s-it’s what they call me.” For the first time, Abigail noticed that the man spoke with a slight accent; an impossible combination of an east coast drawl with something strangely foreign, something so faint she couldn’t place it. 

“That’s...not a name.” She wasn’t doing very well at hiding her sympathy. The man recoiled as if burned but she continued as if she noticed nothing. “Well, that won’t do.” She tapped her finger to her chin and said, “you look like a John. How about that? I mean...I have to call you _something_.” 

No response came. 

Frustrated, Abigail lay back with a huff, falling back on the plush comforter. The smell of stale laundry detergent and lemon scented cleaner flooded her senses. After a few beats of silence, she began again. “Okay, tall, dark, and grumpy, I call bed. Where are you going to sleep?” 

Again, no answer, as was expected, at this point. However, that didn’t seem to matter. To be honest, it was entirely selfish on her part. Abigail wasn’t done trying to sate her curiosity. She sat up, looking for the stranger, and found no sign of him. Unsettled, she called out, “John? Where’d you go?” 

Nothing.

“What the…” She began under her breath, only to jump at the sound of his voice coming from below. 

He grumbled a simple, “down here.”

Her heart was racing under the hand she held to her chest. “Jesus, you scared me. Warn a girl, will ya?”

She was met only with a grunt and the sounds of the man settling down to sleep. 

Yet she lay wide awake. There was no way Abigail was sleeping, not with this much adrenaline coursing through her, not before taking a much needed shower. Sighing, Abigail swung her legs off the side of the bed, ignoring the glacial glare of the man attempting to sleep below. She began to peel her filthy jeans off her legs, leaving them in a heap on the floor at her feet. She stepped over them carelessly, taking off her tattered shirt without breaking her stride; giving a glimpse of her body to the stranger in the dim light before she stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door. She didn’t miss the weight of her companion’s heated stare drinking her in as she stepped out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buck has _feelings._

_John_ , he thought. _No, that's not right._ Yet, neither was the Asset. Nothing felt right. 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes against the darkness, a dull throbbing taking up residence where his neck met the base of his skull. He didn’t want to think anymore, tired of fighting against himself, seeking answers behind a brick wall of emptiness. Yet, to him, sleep never did come easily. 

Something had changed and he didn’t understand; his life was a ritual of completing missions and returning to a deep freeze- it was a blur of compulsion and pain. Yet, getting closer to completing a mission normally brought him a sense of ease; a calmness that comes with doing what he is told, which, from experience he knows, makes the pain lessen. This time, however, the closer he came to finishing this mission, the more he was filled with dread. He found that he didn’t want to return, not yet, and that wanting left him startled and more than a little confused. He couldn’t sort through the new emotions bubbling just below the surface, nervousness, excitement, contentment, and most of all, attraction. His body was responding to this new variable in ways he couldn’t control, and with that lack of control comes something else he wasn’t well versed in; fear.

The sound of the shower running reached his ears, the pattering of the water on the tiles almost soothing. Warm, thick, humid air seeped underneath the bottom of the bathroom door, bringing with it the floral scent of hotel soap, and a barrage of images. Naked, golden skin turning pink from the heat of the falling water, an expanse of endless curves just waiting to be explored. 

His face flamed at the influx of crude thoughts, getting hit with a wave of another new emotion: shame. He doesn’t remember the last time he thought about someone this way, let alone the last time he saw a woman calm and content, comfortable enough to be this intimate with him. His interactions with people were limited, being either his handlers or his missions with nothing in between. Anything other than the urge to fight and the knowledge necessary to be lethal was purged from his brain. He was a weapon and thus needed no desires.

He didn’t remember ever feeling more like a man than at that moment, blushing in the dark, fighting off images of long golden legs leading to a pert and supple ass. He caught a glimpse of her wide hips curved into a tiny waist to match, her breasts pushed up by the red fabric of her bra, as she peeled the soiled shirt off her body and kicked the door closed.

He felt a tightening sensation in his pants; the unfamiliar throb of an erection as it strained against the confining fabric.

The water shut off. The sudden change broke him from his reverie. He shifted to the side to hide his shame from view and concentrated on evening out his breathing, hoping to appear asleep. The shock of sensation caused by the movement of fabric against his arousal pulled from him a low groan. It felt so good it almost hurt.

The bathroom door opened and shut softly. He could hear and feel the vibrations of her soft footsteps through the fraying carpet under his cheek. She was trying to be quiet so as not to wake him. He felt sudden relief before registering the bed dip under her weight when she settled in. It took no time for her breathing to even out with unconsciousness. 

The Asset, however, was very far from being able to sleep. He felt an instinctual ache that he didn’t know to truly satisfy. The pressure of his confined cock was maddening. He cupped himself through his jeans, seeking out his rock hard member, body simultaneously flooding with relief and a sudden need for more. He craved _skin_.

He reached down and quietly unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down his ankles along with his boxers. He let out a hiss at the first touch of his bare hand wrapped around the silky skin of his dick. Nervous, he glanced up at the bed above him, allayed to find her still sleeping. 

Biting his lip to hold back the sounds threatening to spill from his throat, he began to explore himself slowly. First, he started rubbing his fingers across the weeping head of his cock. He twitched in his palm as he began walking his fingers down his length until he found where the base of his cock met his pelvis. Warmth swept through him, gut clenching as he wrapped his palm around himself as far as his fingers would reach and slowly dragging up towards the tip. He felt a tingling throughout his body, humming with anticipation as he repeated the motion in a slow languid pattern. 

Heat began to pull in his belly as his stomach muscles started to pull taut. He shivered, when the roughness of his calloused palm scraped against his frenulum, collecting beads of precum before travelling back down, spreading his liquid with it. His jaw went slack at the sensation, throwing his head back with clenched eyes, his hand beginning to find a rhythm. He began to grip himself tighter as he gradually increased speed, his leaking precum smoothing the way, the slick sounds of skin on skin filling the empty room. Despite his best efforts to keep quiet, he wasn’t able to fully muffle the sound. Besides, the more wound up he began to feel the less he cared about how covert he was being. 

Pleasure began to pool deep in his gut and gather around the base of his spine. He began rutting against himself, thrusting into his grip as a cascade of pleasure began to wash over him. Something mind blowing was happening; a storm brewing deep within him that was both instinctively familiar and achingly new. His balls began to tighten and pull close to his skin as his muscles shook with each new precipice of his rising orgasm. His cock was aching, gnawing pleasure taking over, each muscle spasm bringing his release closer to it’s breaking point, when he let out a soft plea followed immediately by another quiet gasp he faintly registered was not uttered by himself.

Blue eyes opened to meet a shocked green gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a tease. More smut shall arrive soon!


End file.
